Pastors

I didn't want to change.

Born and raised in the suburbs, middle-class, college educated, WASP, I found myself pastoring a church in the inner city of Chicago. The neighborhood was Catholic, blue-collar, run-down, an amalgam of white-ethnic and Mexican. Our building sat across from a housing project. I balked at calling this place home.

One weekend, I had an opportunity to get away, to preach in my home church in Bloomington, Illinois. When the last vestiges of city and suburb were in my rearview mirror, I sighed in relief. For the next two hours I soaked in the beauty of the expansive cornfields. Later, as I shook hands and conversed with old friends, one thought echoed in my mind: It's good to be home.

Two days later, through a dirty haze, unwelcome landmarks assaulted me: gray factories, smoldering smokestacks, clogged highways.

But eight years later my name is still on the same stationery. By God's grace I eventually adapted to foreign soil. Looking back, I see three attitudes that delayed ...

You have reached the end of this Article Preview

To continue reading, subscribe to Christianity Today magazine. Subscribers have full digital access to CT Pastors articles.

Log InSubscribe

Already a CT subscriber? Log in for full digital access.